BRATTLEBORO — Janice Wesley Kelsey was 16 years old during the spring of 1963 when she became involved in the civil rights movement.
Her motivation to join the movement had nothing to do with civil rights.
Kelsey had a friend whose mother was involved in the movement. This was before there were latchkey kids, so when her friend's mother went to the movement, her friend had to go to the movement, too.
That friend would come back to school talking about the mass meetings. She would talk about how exciting it was with the choirs, with people - like her mother - from churches all over the city wearing different robes and singing magnificently. That interested her. The church that Kelsey grew up in didn't have a significant choir, and they didn't sing very well.
Kelsey's friend talked about all the young preachers who were there. Kelsey's church didn't have a lot of young preachers - they were elderly gentlemen.
Kelsey's friend talked about all of the cute boys who had come to these meetings.
That interested her.
“I wasn't in touch with what was going on, but I got permission from my mother to go to a mass meeting at New Pilgrim Baptist Church,” Kelsey told us. “It was in walking distance of our house.
“When I got to the meeting, it was everything she has said. The choir was rocking and singing these songs that were so intense and so motivational. They made you really want do something.
“The ministers were all well spoken and well dressed, except for this one guy - his name was James Bevel - dressed differently than the rest of them. He had on what we call 'four ones' - blue jeans.
“He was bald and had a little beard, and I thought he was cute. He asked all of the teenagers to go with him to the annex, where he polled the audience, asking who was from Ullman High School, who was from Parker High School.
“He named all of our schools and we had a lot of school pride so we cheered as he called our school's name and then he came back and said, 'OK, from Ullman - who in here from Ullman takes typing?'
“I raised my hand. I was a good typist and glad to let him know it, and he asked, 'How many electric typewriters do you have in your school?'
“I said, 'One, but I get to type on it because I'm a good typist.' For those of you who may not be quite as old as I am, electric typewriters back then, they were like a computer is today. Probably everybody had them, but I didn't know because we didn't have one.
“Rev. Bevel said, 'Did you know that Phillips High School has three rooms of electric typewriters? In fact they don't even practice on those that y'all use up there at Ullman.'”
That was Kelsey's first jolt of reality that something was wrong.
“Rev. Bevel asked, 'Is there anybody from Ullman here that plays football? Have you ever wondered why your helmets are always blue and white but your school colors are green and gray? Do you know why they are blue and white? Because you get the discards from Ramsey High School when they get new equipment - you get their old equipment.”
“He cited other examples. That was another jolt of reality that something was wrong.
“He asked, finally, 'Do any of you ever go downtown to eat lunch and on Saturdays?'
“My cousin and I would ride the bus down to J.J. Newberry's, get off the bus, and go up to the fourth floor and stand near the elevator and buy a hot dog and Coke for 27 cents.
“He asked, 'Have you ever wondered how much those folk pay for their hot dog and Coke who are sitting in those pretty leather seats that you pass by on your way to the fourth floor?' And when he said, '27 cents,' that was the straw that broke the camel's back.”
Kelsey said, “They treating me wrong.”
“OK - if you want to do something about it, you can,” Bevel replied. “Your parents really can't because if they do something they could be arrested or they could be hurt or they could lose their jobs and no one would be there to take care of you. But if you want to do something about it, just going to cost you a few days out of school, and what does that matter? You're getting a second-class education anyway.”
“It was on! I was convinced. It was time to do something about it. We were told that a day had been designated - the day that we could participate, and we were calling it 'D-Day.'”
That was because they were going to get their freedom.
The students and a local radio disc jockey, “Tall Paul” White, had worked out a code to instruct the students what to do on a specific time and day. Tall Paul's career took off at station WEUP, the first Black-owned radio station in Alabama. Some said he gave codes over the air as to where the student activists were meeting or where police activity was.
And with Tall Paul spreading the word, the students learned that May 2, 1963 would be D-Day.
* * *
That morning, Kelsey awakened with freedom on her mind. She was singing freedom songs, packing her purse with toothpaste and soap. She took everything she thought she would need for an overnight party, because she would be going to jail.
Her mother sensed that something was going on.
“I'm sending you to school now,” she said. “Don't get yourself into any trouble. I don't have any money to get you out, so I'm sending you to school.”
Kelsey had a hurdle to cross. She was a good student and didn't want mess up her GPA. She went to one of her young teachers and asked what would happen if some students were to get up and walk out of class.
“Are they going to fail?” she asked.
“If everybody walks, nobody fails,” her teacher replied.
* * *
When the bell rang to end first period, off the students went to downtown Birmingham.
George C. Bell, the school principal, was standing in the entrance. It made Kelsey anxious, but Mr. Bell said nothing; she assumed that was consent.
After arriving at the meeting point - the 16th Street Baptist Church - Kelsey and the others were told to just kneel and pray or sing one of the freedom songs, regardless to what someone said or did to them.
Off they went, singing “We Shall Overcome.”
They soon were stopped by a policeman with a megaphone who told them they were in violation of a city ordinance and could not parade without a permit. The officer said that if they would disperse peacefully, nothing would happen. But if they did not do so, they would go to jail.
Kelsey had some decisions to make.
She was accustomed to obeying adults, especially white adults, and most especially one with a pistol on his hip and a stick in his hand.
She wanted to obey, but somebody near the back of the line who didn't see what she saw started singing “We Are Not Afraid.”
And that gave Kelsey and the others enough courage to stand there and be arrested.
* * *
The students were first pulled into police wagons, the small little trucks that looked like a little jail cell. The police packed as many as they could fit. The students tried to make a game out of it by rocking and stomping and trying to flip the vehicle.
School buses were sent to transport the students. Kelsey had never ridden on one and here she was, on the way to the county jail. Her purse was checked, she was fingerprinted, and her mugshots were taken.
There were too many students to be placed only in cells. They spilled into and filled a hallway. An exposed commode left them no privacy.
On Friday, the demonstrations continued throughout the day; Kelsey later learned about the dogs and the hoses.
Late that night, the students were taken to Fair Park Arena, a small amusement park that operated at the Alabama State Fairgrounds. The students called it it “Kiddieland Park,” and Blacks were not allowed there.
Kelsey had passed Kiddieland Park many times going somewhere with her family, and getting in was exciting.
She stayed there until that Sunday. An announcement had been made in church that parents could come sign their children out of jail without a fee. Her parents were among the first to do so.
* * *
Janice Kelsey has a picture from her time when she was detained at Fair Park Arena. Someone from one of the newsmagazines took the photo while interviewing the students about their discomfort while under arrest.
“In these days there was a commercial on TV about Carnation milk,” Kelsey recalled. In its advertising, the company claimed its condensed milk came “from contented cows.”
When Kelsey was asked if the students were all right, she responded, “I am as content as a Carnation cow.”
“She snapped my picture, and that was it,” she said.